The flashbacks get worse gradually; they start with nightmares on their honeymoon, of airport security and fake passports of a different time. She clutches her new, real, solid one in her hands and shakes as he rocks her, gently, on their hotel bed. She dreams of necks cracked in foreign alleyways; of poisons slipped in to flirty cocktails; of choking and blood and spit and dead eyes. He finds her in the shower at dawn scrubbing blood he can't see off of her arms and holds her as she weeps for everything she remembers she has done.

In New York the memories come fast and she clings to him; they devour one another, try and pull from each other everything they need. She gets the briefest of reprieves in his arms; she sees in his eyes and feels in his touch how much he loves her, how distant he thinks she is from the things she has done. She supposes that she is, truly, but the more she remembers the less she feels she deserves him. His love, his forgiveness, his touch. She feels safest when he takes her in his arms, fills her completely, kisses every inch of her; every tattoo, every clue to Remi's plan, every reminder of what she has done to the world to show her how completely he loves her. Yet the months wear on and her nightmares never leave her; her body brings her panic and headaches and pains but never gives her what she desperately wants. What she wants to give him.

She says it becomes too much after the clinic; when their doctor cocks his head and asks why she never mentioned to her husband that she's sterilised. It feels like Remi's last revenge; punishment for forgetting everything she worked for. To Jane, it feels like the ultimate cruelty; plot to get her close to a man they took everything from, only to deny her the chance to give him everything he wants. He tells her he loves her, he loves her. Not in spite of this, but because of everything she is, but she finds it harder and harder to separate herself from the past now. She is the product of everything Remi did; and now she remembers every act her own hands carried out in the name of terror.

It was his suggestion to leave, in the end, although she knows it breaks his heart to think of not having her with him every day. A break from the onslaught of New York; a chance to escape that she denied herself before. Deep down she knows he wants her to say no, to stay and fight her demons with him, that he wants to keep her. Keep them.

But she can't.

He doesn't realise that their last night together is just that; although she knows he must suspect from the way she sobs when he rolls off of her, the way she pulls his arms around her and soaks his chest with her tears. She presses her ring in to his palm before she leaves, her silent promise that she would want to be with him if she could, and slips out of the door.

Free.

Alone.